Alexander was roaming as far as India, ravaging tribes that were but little known, even to their neighbors. During the blockade of a certain city, while he was reconnoitering the walls and hunting for the weakest spot in the fortifications, he was wounded by an arrow.
Nevertheless, he long continued the siege, intent on finishing what he had begun. The pain of his wound, however, as the surface became dry and as the flow of blood was checked, increased; his leg gradually became numb as he sat his horse; and finally, when he was forced to withdraw, he exclaimed: "All men swear that I am the son of Jupiter, but this wound cries out that I am mortal."
Let us also act in the same way. Each man, according to his lot in life, is stultified by flattery. We should say to him who flatters us: "You call me a man of sense, but I understand how many of the things which I crave are useless, and how many of the things which I desire will do me harm. I have not even the knowledge, which satiety teaches to animals, of what should be the measure of my food or my drink. I do not yet know how much I can hold."
Nevertheless, he long continued the siege, intent on finishing what he had begun. The pain of his wound, however, as the surface became dry and as the flow of blood was checked, increased; his leg gradually became numb as he sat his horse; and finally, when he was forced to withdraw, he exclaimed: "All men swear that I am the son of Jupiter, but this wound cries out that I am mortal."
Let us also act in the same way. Each man, according to his lot in life, is stultified by flattery. We should say to him who flatters us: "You call me a man of sense, but I understand how many of the things which I crave are useless, and how many of the things which I desire will do me harm. I have not even the knowledge, which satiety teaches to animals, of what should be the measure of my food or my drink. I do not yet know how much I can hold."
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 59
I am always deeply touched when I see a child turn to his parents for approval or encouragement, and yet there is something rather amiss when adults constantly seek the praise and blessings of their supposed superiors. It remains natural for the youth, who is still forming his own reason, but it is a weakness for the man, who should learn to stand on his own convictions.
I must resist the temptation to grow angry when I see how much time people spend flattering those they hope will help them to “get ahead”, and how easily the masters proudly strut about and manipulate their followers by dishing out portions of acknowledgement. There is, after all, no malice in it, only a confusion that comes from failing to have confidence in one’s own worth. Pity, not frustration, is the proper response.
If I am constantly told how great I am, I will be inclined to start believing it, and I will then start replacing my own inner merits with a craving for outer acclaim. I very rarely find myself celebrated, but when I do I feel that I want more, for honor can so easily become a sort of addiction. I should take the praise if it comes, though I should never take it too seriously.
Just as the rich struggle to conceive of a life without luxury, so the celebrated can no longer disentangle their identities from their reputations.
Alexander indeed had a healthy reminder of his weakness and mortality, and he was thereby granted the opportunity to consider his true nature. Though it may not feel so pleasant at the time, I end up being grateful when I have been put in my place. I will not discover who I am without looking beyond the illusion of how I appear.
When I am fawning over others, I reveal my own insecurity. When I am puffed up with popularity, it can be good to burst that bubble. I am well advised to reflect on one of my many vices if another is extolling one of my dubious virtues.
I am always deeply touched when I see a child turn to his parents for approval or encouragement, and yet there is something rather amiss when adults constantly seek the praise and blessings of their supposed superiors. It remains natural for the youth, who is still forming his own reason, but it is a weakness for the man, who should learn to stand on his own convictions.
I must resist the temptation to grow angry when I see how much time people spend flattering those they hope will help them to “get ahead”, and how easily the masters proudly strut about and manipulate their followers by dishing out portions of acknowledgement. There is, after all, no malice in it, only a confusion that comes from failing to have confidence in one’s own worth. Pity, not frustration, is the proper response.
If I am constantly told how great I am, I will be inclined to start believing it, and I will then start replacing my own inner merits with a craving for outer acclaim. I very rarely find myself celebrated, but when I do I feel that I want more, for honor can so easily become a sort of addiction. I should take the praise if it comes, though I should never take it too seriously.
Just as the rich struggle to conceive of a life without luxury, so the celebrated can no longer disentangle their identities from their reputations.
Alexander indeed had a healthy reminder of his weakness and mortality, and he was thereby granted the opportunity to consider his true nature. Though it may not feel so pleasant at the time, I end up being grateful when I have been put in my place. I will not discover who I am without looking beyond the illusion of how I appear.
When I am fawning over others, I reveal my own insecurity. When I am puffed up with popularity, it can be good to burst that bubble. I am well advised to reflect on one of my many vices if another is extolling one of my dubious virtues.
—Reflection written in 6/2013
IMAGE: School of Simon de Vos, Alexander Wounded (c. 1650)
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